


Drive Me Wild

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson needing to be in control, Coulson taking care of Skye, D/s, F/M, Fluffy D/s, GH-325 hand-wavy mystical connection crap, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Post 2x03, and Skye needing to let go of control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 2x03. Coulson checks on Skye, and they get a better understanding of the connection between them. Coulson needs to take back some control of his body, and Skye needs to let go of the control she's been keeping on hers. Sort of a challenge to myself to write (sensitive, emotionally giving) Coulson being in a Top position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive Me Wild

“Hi.”

He pokes his head in the door of her old bunk, bare and empty now but for the blanket she’s tossed over the bed. May had told him he'd probably find her here.

“Hi,” she greets him from on top of the blanket. She’s staring into space, occasionally checking the heart monitor on her wrist.

He doesn’t actually know what to say, except that he feels certain he needs to say _something._ _He_ , specifically, needs to say something.

“The shot I took. It wasn’t a kill shot,” Skye informs him, as though it’s important that he knows that.

“I know.”

Because he did know. Because that was the decision. Because Skye wouldn’t set out to kill someone when disabling them was an option.

“I keep looking for any word that he’s been recovered. I don’t know if he’d survive —”

“It’s okay,” he promises her. “Even if the worst happens, you made the right call.”

She nods, once.

“May says that it never gets easier.”

“It doesn’t,” he agrees.

She nods, and her eyes are distant, far away, before she presses the button on the side of her heart monitor. He can see that the number is in the triple digits. Skye takes a slow, deep breath.

And he hates to do it, but he didn’t come find her just because of Donnie. She’s not hiding here just because of Donnie. As much as he knows that whole situation pains her — as much as it _should_ pain her because Skye is a good person and good people feel pain at taking a life — she’s hiding from something bigger, too.

“I saw the video feed.”

“I figured.”

He nods, continues to stand awkwardly inside the door.

“Are you okay?”

“I can’t get my heart rate down.”

As though that’s an answer.

“Skye —”

“Did you know? Have you known that my father is alive?”

“No,” he answers, completely truthful. “I’m not sure I believe Ward, either.”

“He’s been pretty good about telling the truth, though. Better than you, some would say.”

She stares him down, and her gaze lacks the characteristic warmth he associates with  _Skye_. It hurts, but it’s no less than he deserves.

“I believe that he thinks that’s what’s happening. I also believe that Raina and Garrett could have lied to him.”

She nods, once.

Silence falls between them, and a familiar prickle attacks the back of Coulson’s neck. It happens when he’s near her lately, like the GH-325 in his system is climbing towards his skin, trying to get out.

He takes a deep breath and forces it back down.

“You’ve been keeping a lot from me.”

“Yes, I have,” he admits.

“For my own good?”

He’s about to answer in the affirmative, but something in her gaze makes him pause.

“I think so. I thought so.” He takes a deep, slow breath. “Some is because I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

Coulson frowns at her.

“Skye.”

“Scared of _me_? Or scared that whatever’s wrong with you will go wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Bullshit.”

Their eyes lock, and the prickle spreads down his neck, across his shoulders, to his chest. He scratches absently at his shoulder.

Skye’s whole body tenses in discomfort, and she checks the heart monitor on her wrist. He can see the number is creeping towards 120. He would guess his pulse is somewhere in the same vicinity.

“Step out of the room,” she orders him. “Just for a minute.”

He does, takes five large paces backwards, and he watches from beyond the doorframe as she checks her wrist again.

“Part of it is you,” she informs him.

“I know.”

Her eyes meet his, and some of the coldness falls away. She’s scared and fascinated and concerned and brave, and she looks more like the girl he met a year ago. Though the year and the betrayals and the training has definitely made its mark.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. But it’s…”

“What’s wrong with you, sir?” The question is all worry, totally wrapped up in concern for him, and his heart breaks for the woman she is — that she could be facing down an existential crisis and still worry about him.

“I’m going to come back in the room. Take some deep breaths while I do.”

“You, too?”

He nods and takes a pace forward, accompanied by a deep inhalation, and then pauses as he exhales. The itch is there, but he can hold it at bay. His pulse raises a little, but he can stay calm enough. Skye’s breath happens in sync with his, and their eyes hold as he takes five more large paces, five more tandem breaths, until he’s standing by her bed. She slides to the side, makes room for him to sit, and he does.

“Okay?”

She checks her wrist, and he can see the large 92.

“Not perfect, but better than it was.”

“Good.”

They sit together, breathing slowly.

“Project TAHITI was a failure,” he begins. “The agent in charge...me. It was me.”

He doesn’t know why he tried to lie just then. Why he thought he could keep something else between them.

“ _What?_ ”

He nods. Frowns.

“I ordered the project shut down because of the side effects on subjects. It’s unknown at this point whether the side effects were related more to the serum or to being brought back to life. The reason they re-wrote my memories was because the only way to stave off symptoms was to erase the memory of what had happened.”

“And then you found out.”

“Yes.”

“And what’s happening?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you more. It might…”

“Tough. ”

“But if you —”

“I’ve _always_ known what you gave me. It’s not news to me. And it affected Garrett, right? It affected Garrett right away, and it hasn’t affected me, yet, so…”

He nods.

“I don’t know why that is,” he tells her, anticipating her question.

“That scares you, too, doesn’t it?”

He nods again.

“Tell me what’s happening to you.”

Coulson swallows, feels the itch starting to spread across his chest. He takes a long, slow breath and watches as Skye does the same.

“The symbols. I...I carve them. I don’t know what they mean, but I carve them.”

She closes her eyes, and he watches her breath deeply and slowly.

“I thought maybe that was it.”

“Are you having any…”

“Any what?”

“Sleepwalking? Or…”

“Is that what happens? You carve them while you’re asleep?”

“Not asleep, exactly. It’s sort of...a trance. I’m learning to hold them off, but once it starts I can’t...I can’t control it.”

He’s itching more, can’t help but scratch across his chest, and his breaths are coming too rapidly.

“Coulson,” she calls to him, reaches forward and lays a hand on his shoulder.

The itching stops.

It’s the first time in _months_ that he’s been free of it, and he takes a deep breath, is flooded with gratitude.

“Oh.”

Their eyes meet, and something lights up in her eyes — something familiar, something beyond all the worry and anger and everything that’s been circulating between them for the past few months.

“You feel that, too?”

As she speaks, her hand slides upwards, touches the side of his neck.

“Yes,” he answers — practically sighs as her skin comes in contact with his. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt — a balm on the itch that has plagued him for months, but a different kind of fire that spreads under his skin. Skye’s hand slips around and under the open collar of his shirt, and he’s never been so glad to have removed his jacket and tie.

His eyes dip down to her lips, watch as her tongue darts out to wet them.

“ _Skye_.”

“Uh huh?”

He manages to tear his eyes away from her mouth, only to see the hunger in her eyes as they follow her hand onto his chest.

It makes his whole body tighten, but different from the way he’s been tense lately. It’s a good kind of tight — an _alive_ kind of tight. He can feel blood pulse in his groin, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so good, being perched on the edge of something wonderful.

“Skye I’m about to kiss you. We need to put some distance between us if you don’t want that.”

She smiles at him, doesn’t pull away or come closer.

“Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Because I’ve been lying to you. I’ve been…”

“You’ve been keeping me in the dark. You thought you had to stay away from me, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You knew. I didn’t realize it — that I felt so tense and itchy when you were close.”

He swallows.

“ _This_ …” He rests his hand on her arm, the one still lingering on his chest. “Is this okay? I don’t know if it’s just —”

“It’s not.”

He must look skeptical because she rolls her eyes.

“It’s _really_ not. You have to have gotten that I…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, instead turns a cute pink color.

“I’ve wanted you for such a long time,” he admits quietly. “I thought it was wrong, and lately it’s been so hard.”

His eyes roam to her lips again, and then down her neck, down the curves of her body hidden under her black shirt.

“I thought being around you just made it worse. I thought I was powerless.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling so powerless. I can’t even imagine, losing control of your body like that.”

She looks profoundly sad, and then she pulls her hand off of his neck.

“Skye,” he protests, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she takes hold of his hands and pulls them to rest on her waist.

“You can be in control here.”

He nods because he _is_ in control here — his brain and his body are in perfect agreement for the first time since he became the Director of SHIELD.

“Skye —”

“You can be _in control_ here.” Her eyes are serious, and he watches as she releases his hands and links her fingers behind her back. “Would you like that?”

He watches his hands — so pale next to the black of her shirt — move with each slow breath she takes.

“Would _you_ like that?” He turns the question back on her.

She smiles in response.

“I’ve been working pretty hard at maintaining control, AC.” She pulls her wrist from behind her back for long enough to shake the heart monitor at him. “It might be nice to...let go?”

He nods and then slides his hands from her waist up to cup her breasts through her shirt.

She sucks in air — harsh and audible and excited — as he drags his thumbs over her nipples, already visible under her shirt and bra. It strikes him, as she moans and thrusts her chest towards him, that he hasn’t kissed her. _They_ haven’t kissed. And he has to fix that immediately.

Skye meets his lips eagerly as he dives forward; her mouth is warm and pliant underneath his. She lets herself be kissed, responds to his lips and his tongue, but it isn’t enough. Without ever having kissed her before, he knows that _this_ is not how Skye kisses.

“Kiss me,” he orders her, though when her hands dart forward to grab his shoulders, he pulls back. “But keep your hands behind your back.”

She smirks at him, clearly amused with his demand, but she complies. Even as she keeps her hands away, her mouth becomes demanding against his. She chases his tongue into his mouth and nips at his bottom lip, and he meets her stroke for stroke.

He groans at the scrape of her teeth across his lip as he pulls back, and he watches as Skye sighs at the absence of his mouth. Coulson skims his eyes down her body again and licks his lips, imagines all the places he is going to kiss her.

“You want to undress me, sir?”

The sparkle in her eyes on _sir_ sends a pulse of lust through his body, and he slips his hands under her shirt and pulls it up over her head. He makes quick work of her bra and tosses it to the floor after her shirt, but pauses before he lets himself take in the sight of her. Instead, he reaches for her wrist and pulls off the heart monitor, tosses it to the bedside table.

“I want to make you lose control,” he whispers as he brings her newly-bare wrist to his mouth and kisses the delicate skin on the inside. She moans — he’s not sure whether at the words or the feel of his mouth on her — but he lets his lips continue the trail of kisses up her arm until he’s nuzzling at her shoulder and neck. Together, they fall backwards so that Coulson hovers over her body, and he finally pulls back enough to look at her.

He swallows as his gaze falls down her body, and he exhales a long breath at the sight of smooth skin, the peaks of her breasts and the dip of her waist and every bump and scrape and imperfection. She’s beautiful — she’s perfect and _gorgeous_ — but above all else she is _Skye_.

She’s Skye, and she’s half-naked and trusting beneath him, her hands resting on the bed beside her body.

Coulson rolls to the side, rests his weight on the bed so that his hands are free, and brings her hands up until she’s touching the shelf built in to the headboard. She grips it tightly and nods in understanding, and then Coulson climbs back over her and starts kissing a trail down her body.

He has designs to kiss her literally _everywhere_ , and he makes a good start of it down and across her neck. When he finds a spot that makes her moan, he pauses and nips at it — sinks his teeth just hard enough to sting, just hard enough to matter but not hard enough to hurt. His tongue follows in a slow trail afterwards, soothing any possible pain, and Skye begins to writhe underneath him.

“ _Please_ , Coulson,” she begs incoherently; he’s not sure what she’s begging for. He’s not sure she knows what she’s begging for, either, but he loves the sound of it. It makes him redouble his efforts — kissing and nipping and licking at every sensitive spot he can find as he winds his mouth down to her breasts.

“ _Please_ ,” she begs again, and uses the leverage provided by her hands to thrust her chest up towards his mouth. Coulson grins, more than a little evil, and skips her breasts entirely. His mouth lands beneath them on the smooth skin over her rib cage, and she groans in disappointment.

“Shhh,” he chides her, though he doesn’t mean it. The noises she makes, the sound of her voice, are making his whole body tingle with want. His cock is already hard and throbbing against the zipper of his trousers, but he has no intention of remedying the situation any time soon. He is the master of his own body today, and there’s something liberating about pushing past his own need in order to focus on Skye. He wants to drive her wild beneath him, wants her out of her mind before he lets her come, and he can master whatever other base desires are swimming through his veins as he pursues that end.

Coulson licks across Skye’s ribcage, and only pauses when his lips approach the scars on her upper belly.

He can feel her whole body tense, and he rests his forehead against them for a long moment. These scars will always feel like _his fault_ — there’s no getting around it. And the presence of them will always remind him that he put the GH-325 in her body, that he made the call that has left her compromised, that he made the call that has left _the both of them_ compromised.

When he looks up, though, all he sees is Skye’s worried expression, almost shrunk back in fear, as though she thinks he will be disgusted or disappointed by her scars.

She can’t possibly think that.

Coulson sits up with some urgency unbuttons the top four buttons of his shirt, pulling it apart enough that she can see his own scar.

Skye draws in a deep breath, and he sees her hand twitch against the shelf she’s holding onto.

“Can I?”

“Yes.” _Of course_ , he tries to tell her silently.

And then her hand is on him, sliding down his shirt to lay across his scar. As she strokes him, he dives forward and kisses her like the world is ending, like he could never possibly get enough of her — and he feels himself losing control.

He pulls back before he takes it further — before he strips off her pants and fucks her like he wants to _so badly_. Slowly, he pulls her hand off of his chest and returns it to the shelf above her head.

“Okay?”

She nods in response and holds on as he moves his lips back down her body, until he’s biting at the soft skin around her belly button. Her body tenses and jerks under his — part laughter, part arousal — and he can’t help smiling as his lips hit the button at the top of her pants. He slides his tongue underneath, following the trail of light brown, downy-soft hair, before pulling back and stripping her bare with little fanfare.

Skye is spread out in front of him on the narrow bed, her chest heaving with every breath, her legs parted so he can see the glistening wetness between her thighs. He wants to forget going slowly and to just have her — _now, now, now, now,_ the word thrums in his head like a heartbeat. He pushes it down, though.

He is in control of his body, not the other way around. He is in control of his body, and he  _will_ use it to show Skye that she can trust him.

So Coulson slips down to the foot of the bed and presses his lips to Skye’s right ankle and then her left. She moans — more disappointment than excitement, since she must have seen his momentary struggle — as he explores her calves with his lips and teeth and tongue. She’s particularly sensitive behind her knees, he learns, as he lifts her legs up towards the ceiling to get better access.

Her legs are gorgeous. It would be a lie to say that he’s never thought about them before; that running his mouth over every muscle and curve of them isn’t fulfilling a fantasy in its own right.

By the time his tongue licks a trail up her right thigh, Skye is vibrating beneath him.

“ _Please_ Coulson, _please_ ,” she starts begging on a constant repeat, and every _please_ makes his cock throb.

“Phil,” he corrects her, though, lifts his mouth off of her skin for long enough to say just that.

“Phil,” she repeats, almost reverently, and he nips at her inner thigh. She groans — a loud, low sound — and pumps her hips up hopefully. “ _Please_.”

She’s so wet that the tops of her inner thighs glisten, too, and he leans in enough to lick her clean. The feel of his tongue so close, of his breath ruffling across her neatly trimmed pubic hair, is enough to make her shake so much that he fears for a moment she might be coming.

It’s much too soon for that.

He pulls back and looks up at her face as she gathers herself.

“God, Phil, you’re going to kill me.”

“Not my goal,” he promises with a smile.

He crawls up her body, then, letting her feel his shirt and trousers brush against her bare skin as he brings his mouth level with her right breast.

Skye shifts beneath him — tries to get her breast to his mouth and the rest of her body pressed against his — and he raises himself up high enough that she can do neither.

“ _Please_ , Phil,” she begs again. “Please, I just want...I need…”

“What do you need?”

“ _You_. To feel you.”

He forgets himself for a moment, pushes himself up enough to kiss her. His lips are ravenous over hers, and she lets herself be devoured. He nips at her lips, searches out every corner of her mouth, and she responds only to beg for more — submissive, yet active underneath him. As they kiss, his body presses down against hers, and Skye moans and writhes against him.

When he finally pulls back, she whimpers, but her hands stay put.

“Very good,” he praises her, shifts his weight onto his right hand so that he can run his left hand up one arm and then the other, a soft teasing touch that leaves her moaning again.

Coulson leans in and finally plants his lips against her right breast, and they both sigh at the contact. He trails his tongue in a teasing circle around her nipple before closing his lips over her it and nipping at it — just barely scraping his teeth to test the reaction.

She moans, loudly, and thrusts her chest up towards him again, so he bites down harder and then soothes the sting with his tongue.

“ _Phil_ ,” she calls his name, panting. “Don’t you want me to do something for you? I will. Anything you want.”

He can’t help a grin at her attempted bargaining.

“Hmm, like what?”

He shifts his head over and catches her other nipple gently between his teeth, hiding his smile.

“You _know_ what,” she tells him, in between gasps of air.

“Are you offering to suck my cock, Skye?”

“Yes. I’ll give you the best blowjob you’ve ever had.” She looks right in his eyes as she says it, her voice sure and serious, and he has to give her credit — he’s more than a little tempted by her underhanded attempt to recapture control of the situation.

“That’s a pretty big promise.”

“It’s true.”

Coulson pulls back and shifts his weight onto his left hand, lets his right index finger trail from her breasts up to her chin.

“Show me.”

He taps his index and middle fingers against her lips, and she opens her mouth to suck them inside. Their eyes hold as her tongue wraps easily around the ends of his fingers, and she applies suction to draw his fingers further into her mouth. It’s almost startling to see his fingers disappear all the way past her lips, to feel the whole length of her tongue massaging the whole length of his fingers. The feeling of it goes straight to his cock; it throbs from where it’s still pressed into his zipper.

“Skye,” he whispers her name, a little awed.

She hums around his fingers and sucks harder, making it difficult to extricate them.

“ _S_ _kye_.”

“Phil,” she responds, when they finally pop past her lips. “Told you.”

Coulson nods, more than a little sure that Skye  _could_ give him the best blowjob he's ever had. But he swallows down that lust, and instead focuses on his plan.

 

He raises an eyebrow at her, and then trails his wet fingers down her body — makes a loop around each of her nipples and then slips them between her thighs. He brushes through her pubic hair and then pushes them inside of her, without hesitation or further warning, and Skye goes wild beneath him. She’s so wet that he easily adds a third finger, increasing the pressure and the stretch as he thrusts them into her.

“ _God_ , yes,” she groans as he sets a slow, steady rhythm. She tilts her hips to get his fingers just where she wants them. “Like that. Faster.”

He doesn’t move faster, though; instead, he keeps his fingers thrusting at a slow, controlled pace and leans down nip at her neck.

“Please, _please_ , faster,” she sobs, as her hips rock against his hand. Instead, he begins to curl his fingers, pressing harder inside her at the end of every thrust.

He could listen to the sounds she makes for hours — moans and desperate pleas that speak of something between pleasure and desperation — so he doesn’t know how long it is before he takes pity on her.

Coulson draws his fingers from between her legs, which she protests loudly, before he slips down her body and pushes his tongue inside her and then up to draw fast, hard circles. When his fingers slide into her again, moving faster and with more purpose, Skye’s pleas get higher in pitch and closer together.

“Coulson,” she calls, “Phil. Please, God. _Fuck_.”

He pushes her hard, driving her over the edge after teasing her for so long. When her body finally tenses around him, when her legs start shaking and her pleas become silent because of the tension in her throat, he picks up his speed — coaxes her through the orgasm and towards another.

"Fuck,  _Phil_ ," Skye calls out his name loudly, and he's absurdly grateful that they're on the Bus and not in a bedroom in the base. " _God_." Her hips rise up off the bed, and he rises with them, not letting up until he feels her body completely collapse around him with a loud shout. 

He lets her fall back down to the bed as she pants and pulls away just far enough to lay his head against her thigh as she relaxes.

“ _Coulson_ ,” she whispers, once she’s breathing semi-normally again. She sounds almost desperate, and he quickly crawls up her body.

His face and hand are still covered with her arousal, but she seemingly doesn’t notice as she tugs him into a tight hug.

“Skye,” he whispers against her temple, dropping soft kisses against the side of her face. "Skye. Skye."

It’s startling — terrifying actually — when she completely breaks down against him, wracked with sobs that make her whole body shake in his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers through tears. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay.” He has no idea, actually, if it’s okay, but he holds her against him until she calms down. They stay like that, pressed together — her naked and him still mostly dressed, still in his _shoes_ — until she looks up at him with something like sheepishness in her expression.

“I think it’s just been...hard. For a while. And this was…”

“Release?”

She smiles, more unburdened and happy than he’s seen her in a long time.

“Yeah.” Her eyes drop for a moment, almost shy, before she looks back up at him. “It was pretty amazing.”

“Good. I’m glad I could give that to you.”

“Do you want me to —”

“We have time for that later,” he answers, shaking his head.

It's the first time since he woke up to alien carvings that he's had a  _positive_ thought about the future, and he smiles against her forehead as he kisses her there again. 

 


End file.
